


Free Falling

by bearlytolerable



Series: Modern Circus AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Language, Modern AU, Romance, circus AU, ill keep tags updated as I go, this is me just having an idea and going with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-11-19 04:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18130736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearlytolerable/pseuds/bearlytolerable
Summary: “He admits he's in awe because there’s no magic here, just raw strength and agility. He watches with intensity as her performance continues, a dance with death, a duel against gravity. His heart reaches the summit just as she plummets but she never hits the ground and he finds himself standing and clapping. Sera shoves him back down in his seat. But he wants to meet her, the girl who defies gravity, see her one last time with his own eyes.”Solas only went to the circus to get information on its members and see how it is connected with a story he’s helping to write. But when he meets Sarya, he finds himself falling for her which makes his job much more complicated than it should be.





	1. Prologue

 

The circus and traveling are all that Sarya knows. It is as predictable as the seasons. Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring. Set up, take down, perform, and pack up. Rinse and repeat.  
She stands outside the big top, kicking gravel around. A camera hangs around her neck while she puffs away on a flavored cigarillo, sweet artificial cherry. She knows it’s probably killing her. But so was everything else these days. The difference? One calmed her nerves and the other didn’t.

Funny thing.  
It’s the predictability that makes her anxious. Every time she settles into the mundane, into comfort, change sweeps in and knocks her on her ass. So, she is in a perpetual state of waiting for the inevitable. When that happens, she can rely on the steady puff of her cigarettes and cigarillos. Well, that and her silk aerial ribbons. One last draw and she’s filling her lungs with a smoky elixir, breathes out and tries to make a smoke ring.

It never works like she thinks. She flicks the stub to the ground and stamps it out with her heel. She lifts her camera, zooms the lens in on the fizzling smoke and snaps a picture. She snaps another pic of the city skyline from the steps of her aravel parked up on a half moon of a hill just outside of the hustle and bustle. She makes her way over to the Big Top where members of her clan-her family- work to get everything for set up for the first night of Cirque Lavellan. She snaps a few close ups of Vilanti and her gorgeous makeup, one of the ribbon in her sage hair and decides she should probably start assisting. Placing her camera on her own personal vanity, she settles into the rhythm of her life.

Another day.  
Another dime.  
Another show.

 


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of background on Solas in this setting.

It’s late again and the light above flickers. It’s been doing that all day. Noticing he’s alone, Solas rolls his wrist and the soft yellow is replaced by a brighter blue light. It does not flicker or waver or remotely cause any disturbance. He smiles to himself, pleased. He slouches over keyboard, eyes skimming black letters on a white screen. He pauses, takes off his navy rimmed glasses-they match his tie and socks- and wipes them with the rag he keeps in his back pocket. His ears twitch at the sound of heavy footfalls. No longer alone.

“Hey Chuckles.”

He sighs. “Will you ever tire of calling me that, Varric?”

“You can’t count on it,” he laughs.

“I figured as much. I’m surprised to see you still here.”

“Well, you know how things go. You start a little of this which leads to a little of that and what do you know? You’ve missed dinner and sunset.”

Solas smirks. “Yeah, I do know about that.”

“Then you must be starving too. Wanna get a burger down at the nearest joint?”

“Well, I should probably finish this last little bit of editing…” He looks back to the screen, his fingers hovering over the keys, they haven’t budged for fifteen minutes. He rubs at his eyes as if his fingers can make the redness dissipate and his mouth salivates at the mention of burger. The burger doesn’t even need to be fancy, he’d take a cheap questionable meat patty from McDennet’s, he’s so famished.

Varric doesn’t budge. “Chuckles...you don’t have to go eat with me but I’m not gonna let you waste another second of your life in this place. You got it?”

“But I only have one more paragraph to go over…”

“I’ll give you ten minutes.” Varric crosses his arms. “Then I’m dragging your ass out of here.”

Solas looks to his keyboard then back to Varric. Varric nods to the keyboard and Solas sighs. The room goes quiet except for the occasional clacking of keys.

 

 

 

  
The burger joint Varric takes him to is a little too hipster for Solas’ tastes, with its alternative music and organic menu items but it smells great and there could be worse music. He waits in line, scrolling through the menu on his phone.

“The druffalo burger with the fig jam and halla cheese is pretty decent,” Varric suggests.

Solas nods but he’s more in the mood for something classic-lettuce, tomato, onion, mustard and cheese on sesame bun-with a side of fries. When he gets his food, he and Varric take a seat out on the patio. It’s a deck overlooking the city dwellers bustling about. They remind Solas of flies, fliting mindlessly about until they find the perfect pile of dung to land on. Still, it is amusing to watch them.

A breeze blows in and he rubs his hands up and down his arms to ease the warmth back into his body that the wind took with it. The autumn evenings are getting chillier but not unbearable.

“How’s the living situation with Cole going?” Solas asks Varric, turning away from people watching. He arranges his napkin nicely on his lap and cuts into his burger with a knife, takes a bite with his fork.

Varric shakes his head in playful judgement. “You know, not bad, the kid’s nice to have around. He’s taken a liking to feeding the alley cats. He even built them an elaborate apartment complex out of plastic bins from the store.”

Solas chuckles. “He’s always had a soft spot for the less fortunate souls.”

“Must be why he hangs around you.”

“You insult yourself as you insult me.”  
  
“Touché.” Varric laughs and takes a bite of food, chews and swallows. “Speaking of Cole, think he could stay with you next weekend? I know he’s more than capable of caring for himself…he’s not really a kid. I would just feel better knowing he wasn’t sitting at home alone.”

“I understand. He is always welcome to stay at my house.”

Varric wipes the crumbs off his face with the back of his sleeve. Solas hands him an extra napkin.  
“Thank you. I’m certain I won’t need to convince him to come over. He’s always happy when you’re around.”

“You’re welcome and I am happy to have him.”

They finish their food together and Varric offers to drive him back to their workplace to pick up his car. Solas obliges.

“The circus is going to be in town for the fall,” Varric says as the street lights merge in pixelated colors out the window.

“I heard.”

“I was thinking of getting us some tickets.”

“No need. Sera got me one. But I can have her get one for you too if you want to go?”

“Yeah, though I’m curious as to why Sera got you tickets…something going on with the circus?”

“Something like that,” Solas says.

“You’re not going to give me any details, are you?”

“I would if I had something to give but it’s Sera’s story. She’s the only one that has what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah but she handpicked you. I’m not going to get a single scrap.”

“How about this… I will get you a ticket and perhaps while you’re with us, she’ll clue you in on something. Better yet, maybe you’ll spin a greater story.”

Varric smirks. “Ah Chuckles, I’m honored but you know grunt work isn’t for me. But I’ll accept the ticket. If nothing else, I’ll be thoroughly entertained.”

“Of that I am confident in.”

 

 

 

 

  
The moon sits all pretty in the sky, smiling down on Solas as he fiddles with his keys in the door. He finally gets the door open and summons a wisp of light. It hovers as he removes his shoes, arranging them carefully on the shoe rack next to the door and hangs his keys upon the hook just above it. He locks the door, checks it twice then makes his way up the stairs. He doesn’t even make it up two steps before his phone starts incessantly vibrating. He ignores at first but by the time he gets to his room, he’s rolling his eyes and reaching into his pocket. Across the display, Sera’s name appears. With a great sigh and slump of his shoulders, he scans her messages and commits to answering them tomorrow.

The wisp of light follows him to the bathroom where he strips and showers his stresses away from the day. He is meticulous in his scrubbings, in his shaving and the way in which he dries off. He must be careful to lay the towel down on the floor after drying so as not to make the floor wet while simultaneously drying his feet. He makes his way to his dresser and slips into cotton pajamas before settling into his bed to read a few more chapters of Swords and Shields for the night so he can give Varric a proper review when he’s done.

His phone sits on the bedside table, charging and still vibrating. This time it’s a call. He gives in to it.

“What?” He says.

“Wow, you got a stick up your arse or somethin’?” Sera says on the other end.

“No, I was just settling into bed and you keep texting and now…well now you’re calling.”

“I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t have to.”

“Well? What is it?”

“Sethius owns the circus.”

Solas sighs again. He’s not the best at hiding his irritation. “We know this already.”

“Would you just hear me out, ya?”

“Fine. Go on.”

“The circus owes him money but they haven’t been paying their bits.”

“And?” Solas pinches the bridge of his nose, another migraine starting to come on.

“And apparently, he’s getting what he’s owed anyway.”

Solas sits up straight, curling his knees to his chest and the book tumbles to the floor.

“What other means?”

“Well, that’s the juicy bit innit? That’s what I’m gonna find out.”

Solas’ excitement deflates. “That’s it? Fenedhis. Sera, call me when you have an actual story. Until then, I’ll just see you at the show in a few days.”

“So, what? Not good enough?”

“No. But it’s a start.”

“Ya, it’s a good one too.”

“If you say so. I’m hanging up now, good night Sera.”

“Night, elfy.”

Solas ends the call and any remaining desire for reading fades. Irritated by the pointless conversation, he sends his wisp of light away and sets his glasses inside the glasses case on his bedside table, curls up and sleeps.

 


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas attends the circus and you get a view of his and Sarya's first date from his perspective.
> 
> Sarya's perspective can be found [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107040/chapters/40709708#workskin)

Solas looks down at the tickets in his hand, glasses sliding to the bridge of his nose. He memorizes the letter-number combos: _B1-B4_. They’re easy to remember but he lets the numbers loop in his mind while waiting for Sera to get back with drinks. You know, just in case.

 

“Hey there, what’s your name?” A human with long locks of bright pink hair shuffles up alongside him. She bats her lashes or something like that. It happens to him on occasion, this casual interest from people who find him attractive. He blames it mostly on his fortunate bone structure mixed with his plush pink lips. It once served him well but now he finds it...inconvenient.

 

“I’m not interested,” he states flatly.

 

She frowns and he quickly adds. “You’re pretty, I’m just taken.” He’s not. But the lie is easier. For both him and her.

 

She perks up at his compliment and walks away-satisfied for now-joining a group of ladies standing near the cotton candy machines. He watches the sugar spin into pastel clouds, mesmerized for a half minute before Sera snaps her fingers in front of his face.

 

“Elfy you in there?” she says. I’ve got your boring water.” She proceeds to shove it into his open hands.

 

He blinks, coming to. “Where’s Cole… and Varric?

 

He follows Sera’s finger trail where he spies Varric trying to toss bean bags at weighted targets-a futile task. He shakes his head then glances at his watch.

 

“Shouldn’t we be getting in our seats?” Solas says.

 

“Relax. No need to get your breeches in a bunch. The seats are assigned, yeah?”

 

“Well yes but soon the crowds will gather, and we’ll have to pass in front of all the other people in the row.” He shudders at the thought of squeezing his ass through tight spaces, saying excuse me until his own ears are bleeding (metaphorically of course).

 

“Gimme the tickets.”

 

Solas scowls. “Why?”

 

“Just give ‘em here.” She wags her fingers, impatiently tapping her foot.

 

He hands them over with a melodramatic show of reluctance which earns him a spit-drizzle to the face as Sera sticks out her tongue and promptly goes, “plbbbbbbt!”. He takes out his towel from his pocket and wipes his glasses clean and chides himself for forgetting his sanitizing wipes in his car.

 

“We’re on the end row, elfy, you don’t need to worry about those old dangle-bags gettin’ kneed.” She shoves the tickets back in his face. “But if it makes your face less sour, I’ll fetch those two.” Before he responds she takes off running, laughing along the way.

 

It sinks in what she’s said, and he says, “Hey… they’re not that old!” then pockets the tickets again while she laughs, making faces at him from the bag toss booth. He smiles in turn, always enjoying their chiding and any nuisance she might be to him is well worth her skills as a journalist. Though she has questionable methods, she's the best as what she does, and he’ll forever be grateful for that.

 

* * *

 

 

 

They’re in their seats, Solas next to the aisle of course, for an easy exit. The lights are dim and there’s music playing, brass and bass and electric keyboard, odd circus is what he’d call it. Not bad, just strange and not what he’s used to. It has a good beat and the colored lights in the top of the tent change with the rhythm of the song playing. It’s amusing, ties the crowd over.

The real show begins with a swell of music that floods adrenaline through the veins and makes the crowd cheer. There are exotic animals with riders who do tricks off their backs or make the halla jump through fiery hoops without being burned. And this place is grand and fantastical but not his scene. He is here for one thing only, the story, so he vows to sit it out.

He’s unimpressed. All of these tricks, the fire, the illusions, all of it is just magic he could do with the flick of his wrist. But he claps and plays along, focusing on which performer might be easiest to interview. That is until the lights change again, a solid stream of white, a spotlight on a girl and her extremely long silk ribbon that’s attached somewhere above. She moves like she’s enchanted, all ephemeral grace with silken wings. He admits he's in awe because this is not the magic he knows, just raw strength and agility. He watches with intensity as her performance continues, a dance with death, a duel against gravity. His heart reaches the summit just as she plummets, but she never hits the ground and he’s slack-jawed and clapping. Sera comments on his enthusiasm. He doesn’t care. He wants to meet her, the girl who defies gravity, see her one last time and up-close.The show ends and Solas stares at the tent opening where he saw her disappear. Maybe she’s the one he can interview.

 

“I’m gonna see if I can get into the back,” Sera says to him, flitting away before he can ask to join her.

“Heartbeat hastened, she’s free, flying, then falling. He just wants to know her name.” Solas looks at Cole sharply while Varric starts laughing.

“I take it you enjoyed the show Chuckles?”

There’s heat in his cheeks and he hopes it’s not showing. “I enjoyed one particular part, yes.”

“Well I thought the whole thing was great. The smoke made it hard to see some parts but overall… worth it in my book. What about you, kid?”

Cole looks down at Varric, his eyes big and bright. “Yes,” he says. Nothing more, nothing less. He wanders off toward the concessions and as Solas’ eyes follow his retreating figure, something shiny catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Varric is still rattling on about the circus and something about an idea for a new novel.

“Excuse me,Varric,” Solas says and steps out into the ring to snatch up the shiny object, a lost earring. It matches the set the aerialist had. He runs through all the possible interactions that he could have with the girl and tells himself that returning the earring will help him and Sera land this story they’re trying to write. An easy in for an interview.

 

He makes his way to the back of the tent, rehearsing his speech and all potential dialogue trees he might encounter during their short visit but loses most of his thoughts when he sees the vibrant orange billow of curls trailing down her back.

 

He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Excuse me.” He takes one step forward but stops abruptly when she stiffens.

 

She doesn't even bother to look at him and says, “you shouldn’t be back here.”

 

He pauses, considers walking back out as he looks down at his loafers then at the earring in his hand. “I only wished to return this,” he says quietly. He holds out the earring and the many crystal globes shimmer in the lighting.

 

He catches her gaze in the vanity mirror, eyes like a blue riptide and she’s up now, coming toward him. She holds out her hand, those calloused palms a physical reminder of all her hard work that was just on display and he hands over the earring.

 

“Thank you,” she says with a voice like autumn, a brushing of words against his skin, makes him shiver a little.

 

“It is my pleasure. Thank you for the mesmerizing performance.” He nods and walks away, abandoning his plot to interview her because it doesn’t seem right, not now.

 

He takes maybe five steps before he feels a touch on his arm, light but firm. He turns to face her, catches her gaze and holds it, taken out to sea by her riptide. He doesn’t mind. He’s always been an excellent swimmer.

 

She sticks out her hand with an introduction, and he obliges. She’s got a business grip. “I’m Sarya. You wanna get a drink or something?”

He tells himself to say no. It’s easier that way.

 

“Solas… if there are to be introductions,” he says. As he takes the lead to his favorite café a few blocks away, he shoots a text to his coworkers so they don’t wait for him, then sets it to silent knowing the barrage of texts that will ensue.

 

 

Solas is not a great conversationalist and silence is always a welcome companion. But it has been a long time since he has gone on a date and he knows the rules are different but can’t quite remember what those rules are. Next to him Sarya pulls out a cigarette from her pocket and puts it in her mouth but she doesn’t light and smoke it. She just lets it sit there. His mind cycles through things to talk about. The weather, her job, the show, his job, etc and he talks of none of them.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been constantly glancing at the cigarette until she says, “I know, smoking is bad for me.”

“Well, since you mention it,” Solas says with a smile, “it’s not exactly good for you.’

“But we’ve all got our vices,” she says and shrugs, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Her arms sway a little when she walks, like she’s got a song stuck in her head.

“We do,” he says.

“I’m curious as to what your vices are?”

Solas stuffs his own hands in his pockets. “I’m sure with time, those will be revealed.”

She tilts her head back and laughs and the cigarette drops. He picks it up for her, puts it back in her mouth. His finger lingers for a fraction of a second as she captures his gaze. Then he blushes and stuffs his hand back in that pocket where it’s safe.

“Thank you,” she says, “though that wasn’t an answer.”

“Just because it isn’t the answer you were looking for, doesn’t mean it isn’t an answer.”

She laughs again. “That sounds like some philosophical bullshit. I like it. It’s funny.”  
She takes her cigarette out of her mouth and drops it back into her pocket.

He doesn’t mean to be funny but he’s glad she thinks so. Just ahead, Solas sees the sign for the café swinging in the early fall breeze and he walks a little faster. He grabs the door handle and a little bell chimes as he gestures for her to go in. She says, “thank you”, a little taken aback by his chivalry but its soon forgotten when she notices all the pastries.

He chuckles as he joins her, pointing at a row of decadent petit fours. “I prefer the frilly cakes,” he says.

“Oh? But there are so many to choose from…how do you pick?”

He shrugs. “It’s a gamble every time but one worth taking.”

A small chuckle. “Clearly.”

  
He likes the way she finds him funny without him trying but wonders if she’d laugh if he made an effort at humor. He watches her stare at the little cakes for a moment before he picks out an éclair for himself situated a few rows over in the glass case. He comes back to find her still looking at the row of chocolate cakes.

  
“The chocolate one?” he suggests.

  
“It looks so good.”

  
He opens the display case and grabs her cake as well as a few other’s he thinks are delicious and sets them on the tray. She follows him to the counter and he suggests a drink but she freezes up as he orders water.

“Uh, um…” She shifts uneasily. He watches.  
“I’ll just have water.”

“Is that all?” The cashier asks.

Solas nods.

“We’ll bring it to you when it’s ready,” the cashier says.

Solas digs out his wallet and hands over the cash.

“You didn’t need to pay for that.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can buy next time.”

 “How do you know there will be a next time?”

“I don’t. But the gamble is worth taking the risk.”

She shakes her head and grins. So she does laugh at his intentional jokes. He pushes his glasses up his nose, gaining confidence in their interaction.

“So, Solas,” she begins but pauses as a waiter places their drinks on the table. They both thank him as he walks away. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an editor.”

She takes a sip of her water, then swirls the ice around in the glass. He notices she keeps her fingernails filed with rounded edges and she has them painted a matte nude color. “Oh? Like for books?”

“Newspaper. The Inquisitor to be exact.”

“That’s fantastic. I love reading the newspaper, especially that advice column you have, Cole’s Corner. Good advice, though sometimes the words go over my head.”

“Yes, I have thought about editing his replies in a more concise manner, but I felt that if I did so, I’d be altering him in some way and that just doesn’t seem right.”

“You are a kind man, Solas.”

  
He dips his head, an awkward nod. He’s not sure how to take the compliment. He isn’t always kind. She isn’t saying always. But still, if he were to keep his kindnesses in a jar, he doesn’t know how full it would be or if it would be enough to define an aspect of his character.

He blinks, moving on. “What about you, what do you do?”

“I’m a silk ribbon Aerialist.”

He flushes red, pushes up his glasses again. “Right.” A nervous chuckle. He curses in his head, degrades himself a little.

She chuckles too and he lets the tension out of his shoulders with the next breath of air.

“So, Solas, tell me about where you’re from? You from around here?”

“No. I’m actually from a small suburb north of Arlathan.”

  
“Oh really?” she asks with arched brows, leaning forward with her lips on her straw. “A big city boy. What was that like?”

  
“It wasn’t like what you might think. I lived in a quaint section outside the city. You couldn’t even see it, still was close enough that it effected how visible the stars were in the night’s sky.”

  
“Well, some starlight sounds better than none.”

  
“True and it was.”

“Do you have siblings?”

  
“A sister. I am fond of her. In two weeks, I go back home to visit her as well as my parents.”

  
“And you’re looking forward to it.” It’s a statement said with smiles. She approves.

  
“What about you? Where are you from?”

  
“Originally, Wycome but we move around constantly.”

  
“You and your family?”

  
“Yeah we are all a part of the circus.”

  
He nods, takes another drink. “How long will you be in Orlais?”

  
“Two weeks,” she says, and she stares into her glass.

  
He stares into his glass too. Two weeks isn’t much time.

  
“So… what do you like to do in your free time?” She tilts her head and leans back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

  
He talks to her about his piano playing and his latest composition as well as his love of painting. This gets her to open up about her own art (working with watercolors) and her love of photography. She laments forgetting her camera back at the big top and he mentions she can bring it next time. Then he worries he’s coming on too strong and back tracks with, “if you’d like to have a next time.” She says she would love that and tells him her number while typing his into her own phone.  
The lights start to dim and Solas takes that as the cue to get out.

  
“I think it’s closing time,” she says, getting up from her chair.

  
Solas boxes up her dessert and hands it to her. “Here,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“Mind if I walk you back?” Solas asks.

“Sure, I’d like that.” She smiles and tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

He walks her back to the big top, slow strides meant for straying until there’s nothing but goodbyes. He lingers, illuminated in the yellow glow, eyes falling to her lips. Soft, plush pink with a slight pout. But she doesn’t move, and he doesn’t either and his eyes are searching and asking but also hesitating. Then she looks at the ground and the air feels colder.

  
“It was nice meeting you Sarya,” he says.

  
“Yeah you too. And—uh--thanks for the earring.”

  
“Of course,” he shrugs with hands in his pockets.

  
“I guess this is goodbye,” she says.

  
“I guess so,” he says. Then he turns away.

  
He takes one step and, “Come back and see me some time,” Sarya calls out.

“Of course,” Solas says, twisting his torso to wave. Then she disappears.  
He walks to his car with his heart racing, and a million reasons why he _shouldn’t_ come back.


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a hint of NSFW... like a mention in one, maybe two sentences? Also we see Sarya is impatient and Solas is always hesitant. Weeee!

Sarya busies herself with distractions for two days straight so she doesn’t cave and text Solas first. She shops frivolously, drinks casually, and smokes incessantly. Still, as she lies in bed at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling (that have long since faded) her mind goes to him. Her face lights up from her phone screen while she takes a deep breath and taps on her messages, pulling up Solas’ name.

She begins typing. Smashes the back button. Starts typing again. Erases everything and tosses her phone onto her nicked-up end table, rolling over to her side with her knees tucked up under her chest. He hasn’t come to any more shows, hasn’t even acknowledged her existence in any way other than that night at the café. He said he’d be back, and his tone-his eyes seemed so genuine. It doesn’t help that the minor gesture of his finger lingering on her lips remains.

He was too good to be true; she thinks.

She rolls over again, kicks off her blankets because it’s too warm and the room is suffocating. She repeats this process until it pisses her off to the point of getting out of bed and standing on the porch. She’s staring at the glow of the window in the aravel across from hers. She observes the silhouette of the man she once gave her heart and body to. She smokes one of her cigarillos, this one vanilla, then marches over to knock on the door.

“Sarya?” His voice is like that feeling she gets when she hops into a shower after a long day. The tension in her shoulders releases.

Dallen Mahariel is all blue eyes and disheveled brown hair with the jawline of a superhero. But he’s more Clark Kent than Bruce Wayne and she wonders if she made a mistake when she refused to marry him two years ago. 

“I need you. One night only,” she says.

He nods his agreement. Of course he does and that is the very reason she said no. If she stayed, she worried he would give in to every one of her whims, as he was already prone to do, until he forgot that he had whims of his own. Or worse, she became his sole object of need and she was drowned in his showers of affection. But she’s not asking for marriage tonight.

She tosses her cigarillo to the ground and grabs him by the collar, kissing him. He’s surprised, breathless even. It’s obvious he wants this just as much if not more than she does. She’s in his arms and he takes her inside, shoving the door closed with his foot. They throw themselves together in a tangled mess of arms, legs and lips on the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes and fucking like there was never a time they didn’t do this. Once satiated, Dallen’s asleep and Sarya sits on the edge of his bed, naked and blowing clouds of smoke into the dark room.

It’s easy to use, to detach, to distract and to dissolve her conscience. But it’s not easy being lonely. And she’s left to wonder why she wasn’t worth  _ his _ time.

The ash falls to the carpet.

There’s still dew on the grass when Sarya joins Vilanti in stretching the next day. They exchange the usual greetings and just when Sarya settles into a good stretch Vilanti asks, “Are you and Dallen a couple again?

“Creators! Word got around that fast?” Sarya comes out of her stretch perplexed.

Vilanti is bending over her leg, arms touching her toes with nose to knee. “Well no. Just a few of us are light sleepers and Dallen has never been a quiet lover. Those aravel walls are surprisingly thin.”

Sarya closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She should’ve thought for a half second longer than she did before she went to Dallen but what’s done is done. 

“To answer your question, no. He just makes me feel good.” Sarya shrugs as she stretches her arm across her body.

“Why do you need him to feel good? What happened?”

“Nothing happened _.” _

“You managed to avoid Dallen for two years and suddenly you are throwing yourself at him again? Something happened.”

“I’m not  _ throwing  _ myself at him.” She rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck.

“Is this about that guy you went on a date with? Did he do something to you?”

“No and no.” 

“Come on, Sarya. I know you well enough to know that something is bothering you.”

“It doesn’t really matter now. I’ve gone and screwed up what could’ve been already and Solas isn’t interested. Why would he be interested in a girl that will only be in town for a couple weeks? I don’t blame him for opting out.”

“Did you even try to reach out to him,” Vilanti asks as she twists her torso to look behind her. “Maybe he is just shy.”

“Well no. I didn’t want to look desperate and like I’d been waiting around for him.”

“So instead of just risking looking desperate, you went and got Dallen’s feelings all mixed up in this?” Vilanti twists to the other side, stretching her back.

“I don’t know!” Sarya throws her hands up. “I guess. I’m sure it’ll be fine though. I told him it was a casual, one-night-only thing and he agreed.” 

She doesn’t mention the fact that Dallen’s got wedding eyes again. How he nuzzled into her and whispered about how much he missed her which sent her right on her way. He’s never been good with a casual relationship. But she blames herself for it all even though she was young and full of dreamy ideas. She thought she could maybe be his wife and have his babies but then life happened and they didn’t fit like she needed. Being with Dallen now is a fucked-up thing to do, she knows this, but she’s never had the willpower to follow the directions of her own moral compass.

“Damn, that is a terrible way to treat someone. As I am sure you are well aware,” Vilanti says. 

“Oh, what has Sarya done now?” Sarya looks up from her leg stretches to see her brother Han plopping himself down on the ground. He just lays there, in the grass, one arm propped up under his head.

Vilanti moves into cobra pose, stretching her torso upwards to the sky as she says, “Not much, other than breaking poor Dallen’s heart…  _ again.” _

Han grimaces. “Yikes. Not surprised though. Isn’t this sort of like one of those on-again-off-again, three-year cycles?”

“Two.” Vilanti corrects him.

He chuckles. “My point remains… Sarya’s romantic life is basically a daytime soap opera.”

“Hey!” Sarya protests, sending a pinecone his way. It smacks his hip and rolls away. “I’m tired of this talk that comes at my expense.” She sighs and picks at the blades of grass by her knee. “You ever wish you could do something else other than this?”

“Other than sitting in the grass?” Han asks.

“No! Other than, you know, circus life. I mean, do you ever get tired of all the traveling and stuff?”

Vilanti sits up, pulls her legs to her chest. “No. I like our life. So many places we get to see and new people to meet. We never have to deal with the boring monotony that comes with permanency.” 

Han yawns and scratches at his head. “Well, I don’t mind it but from what I’ve heard recently, we may not have much of this life anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Sarya asks.

“I overheard Deshanna on the phone with Sethius. He kept begging for an extended time limit on the loan payment. I guess we’re not doing too hot."

“Shit,” Sarya says. “How long have we been in the hole?”

“Beats me.” Han purses his lips in thought, chews on his inner cheek a little.

“I thought we were bringing in a decent crowd,” Vilanti says.

Sarya shakes her head as she pulls herself to her feet. “Apparently we’re not doing well enough. I bet it was fucking Ferelden that put us behind in payments. Hardly anyone came and they spent more time debating about ticket prices than they did actually watching the show.”

“Fucking Fereldens,” Han agrees.

Vilanti sighs and stands as well, dusting the dirt off her leggings. “It is a shame to think that we might run out of funds for the circus. Do you think there is a way for us to earn quicker cash? Maybe fit in a few more shows?”

“Our sales numbers are dropping rapidly as is. We would essentially be performing for nobody at the expense of our bodies. And to that I say, no thank you,” says Han.

“Yeah-shit, we do enough already. My muscles can only handle so much. But what about a side gig? Something that doesn’t require our energy, like selling merchandise or something like that,” Sarya suggests while kicking at a patch of grass. “Anyway, I’d love to stay and keep chatting but I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll catch up with you two later.”

“Wait! If you’re going to the store will you pick up a jug of milk?” Han shouts after her.

“Sure, that’s fine-whatever. Just shoot me a text or I’ll forget.”

“Can I text you with stuff I need too?” Vilanti adds.

“Sure, why the hell not?” 

 

Sarya practically runs back to her aravel and digs around in her drawer for a cigarillo. She’s out of everything smoke-worthy except for the cigarette from her date. She throws that cigarette in her pocket, slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her bike, shoving it out the door and down the stairs before hopping on it and racing towards the store.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Solas checks his phone for the umpteenth time today. Sera’s been sending messages nonstop since Friday and every one of them has been work-related. She knows he doesn’t touch work on weekends, but she sends them anyway. He likes to imagine her laughing her ass off when he opens his phone on Monday mornings to one hundred or more notifications. Of course, Varric has sent plenty of messages as well but not a single message he’s received is the one he’s hoping for.

His bowl of oatmeal, piled with berries, sits untouched before him while he deliberates about sending a text to Sarya. After all, he said he’d be in touch. 

 

He’s spent the last couple of days arguing with himself about his attraction to her, logic telling him it would be too messy and complicated. There are too many unknown variables and too many considerations.  Not to mention that she is a smoker-he usually detests smoking. The loud clattering of a plate on the table followed by the clink of a knife prevents him from typing her name.

There’s a heavy sigh and, “Ugh, Papae, we’re out of orange juice  _ again _ .”

He scrunches his nose to push his glasses up as he stares at his daughter. Though she’s nearly seventeen, sometimes he still sees his seven year old with her front two teeth missing. He blinks and the mirage is gone. 

 

“Veda, you are more than capable of swinging by the store on your own. I did buy that car for a reason.”

“Um yah, but that’s your thing. Not mine.”

“It could be  _ your thing _ … you just choose otherwise.” He pushes back his chair and heads over to the fridge, peering inside with her. “I see there’s still apple juice in here.” He takes it out and hands it over.

She looks at it, squinting. “This expired last month.” She takes off the cap and scrunches her nose at the scent of fermentation. She dumps it down the drain.

“Why do we even have it, if nobody drinks it,” Solas murmurs.

“Doesn’t Cole drink it? Or was that Varric?” Veda runs water down the sink and trashes the carton. She butters her toast and joins her father as he sits back down.

“I… do not recall.” He starts to worry that Cole might have drank expired juice all weekend. He makes a mental note to ask Cole about it at work.

“Anyway, doesn’t really matter. Just put it on the list too.” She bites into her toast.

“I won’t add it to the list if neither of us drinks it.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anything else?”

“I could use some new pens-current ones suck-don’t work half the time. Oh! And I want some of those apple fritters from the bakery.”

Solas pulls up his notes and slides his phone across the table. “Here, just write everything you need down, and I’ll head to the store after breakfast. My meeting's not until eleven anyway.”

Veda types between taking bites of her toast and hands the phone over. “By the way, we need to go shopping together for that art gala on Thursday.”

“Art gala?” He slips his phone into his pocket.

“Yah, the art gala I marked on the calendar last week for you. Should be in your phone too.”

He pulls his phone back out and sure enough, Madame de Fer’s Art Gala is on his schedule. He sighs. “And what is wrong with what we already have?”

“Papae, are you seriously asking this right now? The answer is  _ everything _ . This is a fancy event. We need to be spiffy and dazzling,  just like the two pieces of yours being bid on.”

“They are technically Fen Harel’s pieces.”

“Oh please. You’re ridiculous.” She finishes her toast and puts her plate in the dishwasher. “We’ll go shopping when you get off work, ok?”

“Well I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”

She smiles. “No, it appears you don’t.” She waltzes over to him and throws her arms around his shoulders. Kisses his cheek. “Thanks Papae, I’m off to school now. Have a good day.”

“Of course, da’vhenan. You too.”

Solas leaves not long after her. His oatmeal sits untouched on the table.

Solas meanders up and down the supermarket aisles, placing items into his basket. He ticks each item off his list as he goes, pays, then veers into the bakery next door. He orders a half dozen fritters for Veda and a blueberry muffin for himself. He never did eat his oatmeal and his stomach is growling.

“Oh that looks heavenly, I’d like one of those too,” says a woman behind him. She sounds familiar but he doesn’t pay any attention to her. She smells like vanilla and stale smoke.

 

“Wait. Solas?” She says and he finds himself turning and staring at Sarya.

“Oh, hello. It’s good to see you again,” he says while swallowing the lump in his throat. The room feels way too hot for this time of year. He tugs at his shirt collar.

“It’s… good to see you too. I hope everything’s going well with you?”

“It is. Yes, thank you. And everything is well with you?”  His hand can’t grip the basket handle any harder but he tries.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.”

He is usually smooth but the years have made him rusty and he’s left standing stick straight, thinking of something to say that isn’t small talk.

She pays for her muffin. “Anyway, I better get going. Have a good day, Solas.” She gives him a half smile.

“Of course, thank you. And you as well.” He dips his head in a nod and watches her go.

He pays for his things and then nearly runs out the door. His eyes dart to the left and right but she’s already gone and he’s blown another chance.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Sarya’s bike is parked around the corner from the shop and she leans up against the brick wall, staring at her muffin while she smokes. She thinks about Solas and how he’s got his vices and she wonders if one of those vices is telling lies and being shit company. She chuckles aloud, blows a cloud out her nostrils. He wasn’t shit company the other night. She’s drawn to that image, that memory of him smirking and shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He has this little scar on his forehead that she wanted to ask about but felt it was too soon to dive into something that could be so personal. She could ask that someday, maybe.

She slumps her shoulders and sighs. She has no business wondering about him, no business thinking about him like this. He doesn’t want her.

But maybe that’s why she wants it so badly.

“Fuck it,” she mutters. She takes out her phone and types in his name.

**Sarya:** hey it’s Sarya. I was wondering if we could hang out again some time?

There’s an ellipsis immediately and she puts her cigarillo out on the wall, trashes it nearby. Her heart thumps erratically and waiting for the three little dots to turn into words feels like an eternity.

**Solas** : I… have things to consider.

Her heart falls and her head hangs. It’s exactly what she thought. Still, Dallen and other men had always been easy for her. She never had to pursue them, they were always dogs waiting for her to throw the bone. But Solas, he was different and she was determined to discover him, to know him.

**Sarya:** Well, if it helps, we can start as just friends.

**Solas** : I would like that. Drinks at eight?

She smiles to herself. A small win.

**Sarya** : Well, I won’t be done with shows until eleven. Is that too late for you? 

**Solas:** Not at all. Eleven it is.

**Sarya** : Great! Just text me the address and I’ll meet you there.

 

Solas texts her the address of a place called The Hanged Man. Sarya relaxes against the brick wall and her stomach flips. Finally, something to look forward to. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hopefully you see why Solas is all hesitant and “there are considerations” because he’s got a teenager! Weeee! More on that and other fun stuff in the future. Thanks so much for reading!! You all deserve gold stars 💛
> 
> PS: Veda means wisdom if you’re curious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate every one of you stopping by to read, kudos, comment, etc! You’re all treasures 💛


End file.
